A little love for Beast
by Ace of Shipping
Summary: (I thought there were too few Beast-appreciative X-men smut stories! Shameless smut without real plot. I accept requests if you want a pairing!) A series of Beast-pairings. Hank McCoy/Beast x Reader, Logan x Hank.
1. Chapter 1

You and Henry McCoy are friends, you've been for nearly a year now, and you're good with that. He's loyal, as are you, and your friendship had always been dynamic. For some reason the man has few friends, you blame that on his furry blue exterior – it certainly isn't his personality. He's quiet, sure, and shy, and unsure of himself, but you saw beyond that a long time ago. You've seen him for who he really is, and he's done the same with you. You're a duo, even though you're very different people.

Perhaps that's why you've been feeling so conflicted lately, you've been thinking differently about him, and you're afraid that he'll find out. If there's something you don't want, it's him withdrawing from you, back into his blue shell. It had taken you so long to lure him out of it. And that may be the reason why you've begun to avoid him a little, you don't want to admit it to yourself, but you are not spending as much time in the lab with him anymore, and sometimes you avoid him deliberately because you're afraid you'll give away your feelings. The way your heart beats a little faster every time he accidentally touches your arm, or brushes by you in a hurry. When he talks you sometimes find yourself simply spacing out at the sound of his voice, completely missing what he says. He notices, you know, and he probably doesn't understand. Maybe, just maybe, that's why you're on your way to the lab right now, guided by mostly intuition.

When you enter the lab, silently as always, he's sitting by his desk with his face buried in his hands. You can see by the way his shoulders are shaking that he's crying, silently. It cuts your heart to see him like this, and your quick steps against the floor alerts him to your presence as you near him, wanting nothing more than to comfort him. He lifts his head and dries away the tears, rejecting your touch by pushing your hand away when you reach out for him. You look hurt, but he looks away from your eyes, away from your pleading gaze

"Hank, please…" Your soft voice makes him turn his head away from you and he bites his lip, trying to fight the urge to pull you close. You don't know how much you tempt him, and he doesn't want to scare you away. Now you'd begun to distance yourself, and that was probably best. He didn't want you to feel guilty and reach out for him in pity. No, that was the last thing he wanted. "Please… Leave." He mumbles, and your heart feels like it'll break in two. But your determination doesn't waver. "No." You say, and he stiffens in the chair as though you've hit him. "I won't leave you, Hank." You reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. You can feel warmth radiating from him, feel the texture of his fur beneath the lab coat and the white shirt. You longed to rip it off him, to convey to him just how much you wanted him, how much you loved him, but you didn't dare.

He looks up at you, studies your face, your eyes, your lips with his keen, analysing gaze. Something changes in his demeanour, and he inhales deeply. You're suddenly painfully aware of the fact that he could very well be scenting the pheromones that you were producing right now. You wouldn't deny that you were feeling a bit aroused by the way his gaze fell from your face to your forms, travelling over your body before returning to your eyes. You knew that he would recognise the signs; dilated pupils, heavier breathing, a slightly elevated heartbeat that he could not doubt hear. And he did indeed recognise them. Hesitantly he stood up, your hand falling from his shoulder to his chest, and grasped your arms, his movements slow as though he was in constant doubt about whether he dared go on.

"Are you – am I mistaken when I assume – "

"No, you're not." You cut him off with a breathy whisper, pushed to the edge of your ability to fight your urges by the way he was looking at you, and how close he was standing. When he hesitated once again, you grasped the collar of his lab coat and pulled him close, standing on tiptoes to press your lips against his. At first he seems frozen to the spot, but then his lips open and he ferociously returns the kiss, pouring all his desperate longing into it, all his waiting, all his desire. You do the same, and what had been an innocent display of love turns into a passionate act of carnal longing. He growls and bites your lower lip so gently, you almost do not fear the brief touch of sharp teeth against your soft skin. Your gasp in response, pressing your entire body against his, craving, longing for more contact. Before you realise what you're doing, you've stripped him of his lab coat and are buttoning down his shirt. His arms wrap around you the moment you've discarded his shirt, and you bury your fingers in the soft, blue fur on his chest, leaning against him as your lips join in a violent kiss, your tongues battling for dominance, which he easily wins.

Since he seems to have no intention of helping you get rid of your now rather excessive clothes, you slowly begin buttoning down your own shirt, but his hands stop you and he steps back, breathless, looking down at you with worry. In his eyes, you see that all too familiar gleam of uncertainty and insecurity. "Hank." You interrupt before he even has a chance to say what he intends to. "Yes, I'm sure, yes, I want you, no, I don't care that you're blue, furry or have unusual feet. I want you, and you'll hurt me more if you reject me." You look down, suddenly uncertain yourself. "That is… if you want me…" Your words, your tone, your expression has immediate effect. He steps close to you again, his fingers resuming the buttoning down of your shirt where your own just left. Leaning close to you, he whispers into your ear. "I do want you very much." And that is all it takes, you almost moan at his words, and your hands shoot down to his, discarding the shirt before he has a chance to. Almost immediately you've taken off your skirt, and his nimble fingers are unclasping your bra while he walks you to his desk, pushing you against it with his lower body until you nimbly jump up on it, sitting right on the edge.

Your legs naturally spread and he moves to stand between them, allowing you to unbuckle his belt and push down his trousers, which he kick off and away, not caring where they end up. And suddenly, his hands are everywhere on your body and his erection is rubbing against your vagina, granting you friction through two layers of fabric. You moan, unable to hold back the sound, and he answers with a throaty growl of his own, which sounds so gloriously animal that you can't help but gasp and pull him closer, letting your hands wander, exploring his broad back, tones muscles, strong neck and glorious chest. Here and there you find a spot that makes him mewl, and you remember them, as you map out each other's body and he finds those places you've been longing for him to touch. You hold out as long as you can, but you've been waiting for this for so long, that your patience is nearing zero.

"Hank, please, please-" He silences your pleads with a kiss, but his hands shift to yank down your panties. They end up halfway ripped on the floor, but you don't mind that. Your fingers fumble with the hem of his boxer shorts, clumsy with lust, and you manage to push them down and he steps out of them. For a moment you eye him, his form, his erection, just him in his full glory, wonderfully naked before you. You don't get the chance to savour the sight for long, because he pushes you back, making you lie down on the desk. You ready yourself, breathing deeply, and finally he does what you've dreamt and imagined he would for so long.

He slowly enters you, allowing you time to adjust to him. You need that, he is not the smallest of men, and had it not been for his careful and slow movements, this could have been painful. But Henry McCoy is a gentle lover, in spite of his nickname, and takes his sweet time before he is fully sheathed within you. You moan in unison, he sounds every bit the beast, the sound he makes is deep and guttural, and it goes straight to your nether regions, where you are so gloriously filled. You don't need to say anything, he seems to need exactly what you need, and he only withdraws for a moment before pushing back in again, this time quicker and harder, and he sets a slow pace, which you're grateful for.

Slowly he begins to speed up, just when your moans begin to get more needy, and you grasp onto the edges of the desk to push back against him, wrapping your legs around his middle as he thrusts into you with increasing force, steadily grinding out the sexual frustration you have both been holding in for so long. His arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you up and away from the desk, stumbling back a few steps until he finds his chair and sits down with you in his lap. You raise an eyebrow at him, but his hands grasp your hips tightly and urge you to move, and then you understand.

You begin to ride him, your arms wrapped around his neck as you pull each other as close as you possibly can. You moan with every thrust he makes, and he lets out one animalistic growl after the other. Your pace quickens, and you feel him pulsate within you, his member quavering as his groans, growls and gasps grow louder, forming a strangely sensual harmony with your mewls and moans. His breath hitches in his throat as he places his mouth against your right shoulder and bites down, hard, drawing blood with his pearly white teeth. You shout, but as much in pain as in please as the sting of his lovebite drives you over the edge and you clamp down around him, burying your face in his neck to muffle your scream. He winces with pleasure as he helps you ride out your blinding orgasm before allowing himself to come inside you, filling you with hot seed that spreads a pleasant warmth within. With a heavy sigh, you fall forward to lie against him, and he leans back heavily in his chair, processing what just happened.

"We better…" He begins, but seems unsure of what he should say. You just shush him.

"Not now, Hank." You mumble, your head still slightly fuzzy in the aftermath. "I love you."

"Your feelings are reciprocated."

"Yeah, I figured."


	2. Chapter 2 - HankLogan

The lab was quiet and dark when Hank entered through the cold steel doors, just as he expected it to be. He stopped right across the threshold, letting the doors close behind him. The low purrs of magnetic stirrers and the whirring of his coolers, keeping experiments dormant until further work could be completed. And, like a sub-tone forming a base for all the other sounds was…

A deep breathing.

He frowned. Who could possibly be in his lab at this hour, and more so during vacation where the majority of the students were either accommodated at home, at friends, or in some cases out on training in various other states. There were very few who could possibly want anything from Hank at this particular time, and fewer still who would approach him in his lab. Mostly it was the staff, fellow teachers. Ororo, Jean and Scott were all out of town, and the Professor was out on business. That left only-

"Logan." Hank spoke with some surprise, mostly because the clawed man very rarely spoke to him, let alone actively searched him out. "I didn't expect to see you here." There was no reply, save a slight throaty hum. Hank sighed, knowing that he would have to cut to the case with this man. Logan was not the most talkative of people. "How may I help you?" To be honest, Hank hadn't a clue. This was definitely a first. The other man didn't immediately respond. He merely stepped away from the table against which he had been leaning nonchalantly, and looked at Hank with, if the blue man's eyes did not betray him, uncertainty in his eyes. It would seem that not even Logan knew what he wanted. Or, perhaps, he knew what he wanted, but dared not admit it, even to himself.

"Logan?" Hank tried several times to catch the other man's gaze, but Logan avoided his searching yellow eyes. Well, that certainly wasn't normal behavior. Hank listened carefully in the awkward silence following his question – Logan's breathing was also irregular. Was he ill?

No. That couldn't be – his healing factor was too powerful for that, and too swift. If Logan wasn't ill, what might it be? Breathing in deeply, Hank suddenly noticed a scent underlining all the other scents in the room, even the strong, sharp smell of disinfectant. It was a musky, yet sweet scent, and it certainly didn't come from him. Logan was the only possible source. Hank knew this scent – it came with being surrounded by adolescents who were more or less sexually experimental, but certainly often active. It couldn't possibly mean what he had so far understood it to, though, now that it was coming from Logan, and here, with him of all people. Or could it?

There were only two hypotheses, and he, as a scientist, knew how to falsify or verify them. Continuing to breathe deeply, almost tasting the air, Hank slowly walked closer to Logan. Sure enough, the scent grew in intensity in a way that was not linearly proportional with the decreasing of distance.

"I, er…" Logan began rather sheepishly once Hank was mere steps from him, scrutinizing him over the rim of his glasses. Being sheepish certainly didn't become the gruff man very well, Hank decided, and he suddenly couldn't help himself. It was because of the empirical evidence, he tried to convince himself as his lips gently met Logan's, catching the man utterly by surprise. For a moment, he was unresponsive, but then he grasped Hank by his collar and pulled him closer, securing dominance over the kiss. Logan backed Hank against the nearest surface that wasn't littered with beakers and whatnot, and his tongue ran over the other man's lower lip, asking for entry which was immediately granted. Acting purely on instinct, Hank wrapped his arms around Logan's waist, pulling them flush against each other. It was then that he discovered that the Wolverine was as much in heat as he was himself.

Almost without thinking, the two men began to grind their erections together, gaining much-needed friction. Both men were exchanging low groans and animalistic growls instead of words, and by shared instinct, they knew what the other wanted. Soon enough, Hank was lying on the floor, Logan hovering above him, nibbling, kissing, touching everywhere he could get to. Within mere moments, first the lab coat, then Hank's waistcoat was gone, and Logan was halfway done unbuttoning his shirt, while his mouth lavished first his neck, then his clavicle, then-

"A-ah!" Hank was unable to hold back a moan as Logan's tongue encircled his left nipple. The scientist bit his lower lip as the man above him, further egged on by his reaction, continued to lavish his attention to the two perky blue nipples and muscular chest while continuing to undress him. Somewhere amongst the gasps and hitched breaths, Hank had the sense to remove his glasses, pushing them far enough away that they would not be shattered by the inevitable outcome of this endeavor.

He barely sensed when he was stripped of his shirt, and didn't notice Logan's rough hands undoing his belt before one of them had sneaked into his trousers and grasped his rapidly hardening member, eliciting another delicious moan from Hank's lips. It was clear, at least to the blue-furred mutant, that Logan did not want to relinquish control, he wanted to be dominant, and seeing Hank writhe beneath him was more enticing and arousing to him that any caress or touch could ever be.

Hank didn't mind. He lay still, submissive, as Logan pulled off his trousers, and then deftly stripped himself fully, before removing Hank's final piece of clothing. Suddenly, they lay naked on the floor, and he was surprised to find how perfectly Logan fit between his thighs, how easily he slipped in a saliva-coated finger, gently feeling how far he could go, gradually preparing Hank for the intrusion that would come. A second finger joined the first, and although there was pain, it was more of a sting, a slight burning sensation, than what Hank had anticipated. The gentle fingering went on for a few long moments, until Logan found what he had been searching for.

Hank jerked, his nails digging into Logan's shoulders as he gripped them hard. The grizzled male had found his prostate, and it was a sensation he had never experienced before, a sharp spike of pleasure shooting up through his body. This continued, three, four, five strokes, until Hank was a panting, growling, needy mess beneath Logan. Then, accompanied with a mewl of disappointment at the loss of touch, he withdrew his fingers, and spat in his hand, coating his erection with saliva. Briefly, the scientist in Hank thought about contamination and the spreading of diseases through sexual conduct like this, but the animal silenced the scientist very quickly, and he growled, moaned and outright purred when Logan entered him, inch by inch, owning him just as they both wanted.

They found a rhythm almost immediately, but Logan didn't want to go slow and gentle, and the pace gradually turned faster and rougher. Hank didn't mind, on the contrary he relished the light sting of pain that accompanied the roughness and spiced the pleasure. His nails continued to dig into Logan's skin, first his shoulders, later his arms and upper back. He knew he'd drawn blood, but the other man didn't seem to mind. On the contrary, judging by the sounds he made, he enjoyed it. Logan grasped Hank's shoulders, lowering himself to lie completely on top of him, shivering with pleasure at the feeling of soft fur against his own skin. Hank closed his eyes and let himself sink into the ecstasy of all the stimuli he was experiencing. Logan's erection pumping in and out of him at an ever-increasing pace, stroking his prostate with every thrust. Logan's chest heaving in time with his own, his body all muscle and no softness. The flexing of muscles beneath his palms as Logan thrusted harder and harder, rougher and rougher.

Hank felt it come, the brink of ecstasy, the climax. He felt it slowly come nearer with every stroke of Logan's need against his prostate, with every throaty growl that came from his throat, every surprisingly gentle lovebite. He knew that his own sounds, his growls, his purrs, grew increasingly needy, and he knew that Logan could hear how close he was.

A rough hand wrapped around Hank's neglected erection, and it was all he could do to hold on just a moment longer. Then the whisper came, the permission he had instinctively been waiting for.

"Come for me."

And he did. For several glorious moments, Hank came, pleasure rushing through his veins, accompanied, he knew, by large quantities of oxytocin and endorphins… after that thought, his mind was silenced by blinding white static noise as he reached the peak and came crashing down, barely registering the warmth that spread in his loins as Logan came within him.

Both men were silent as they climaxed, their faces contorted with immense pleasure, Hank's mouth open as if to scream without sound. And then, Logan collapsed on top of his mate, and they lay limp, a mess of entangled limbs, for several minutes, panting and recovering their senses.

Logan was the first to move, slipping out of Hank and looking around for something to clean them up with, which he found in the form of Hank's ever-handy supply of tissues, recovered from a drawer. After all, you never knew when you needed a tissue in a lab handling mostly liquids.

It wasn't long before they were both cleaned and getting dressed, and still not a word had been spoken. It wasn't until they were fully clothed that Hank asked the inevitable question.

"Logan… What does this mean for our relationship?" Awfully cliché, he knew that. But he needed clearance.

"Whaddya mean?" Logan asked. Needless to say, that was not the answer Hank wanted. Luckily for him, it wasn't the final say. "Don't get all emotional on me, furball. Wouldn't mind the occasional tussle. No strings though, mind ya."

"No strings." Hank agreed. And that was that. It was cleared.

They were friends with benefits.

Or. Not exactly friends. Just… Just benefits.

Oh stars and garters, Hank wished he could avoid the emotions. He'd just have to work his way around them. After all, he and Logan couldn't afford being in love, not with danger ever-present. He'd simply have to distance himself.

It wouldn't be easy, he realized with a heavy sigh as he watched Logan leave through the steel doors, a slight swagger to his gait.


End file.
